


Wildflowers of the Marches

by dawnstonedagger



Series: Wildflowers of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Best Elf, Elves Banging, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Mutual Masturbation, One Night Stands, Outdoor Sex, Post-Kirkwall Rebellion, Pre-Dragon Age Inquisition, Pre-The Masked Empire, Rare Pairings, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstonedagger/pseuds/dawnstonedagger
Summary: Ladarelan Lavellan goes in search of embrium to restore her clan's stocks, but it has all disappeared from the area. Further investigation leads to an encounter with an unusual, but fascinating elf whom she ends up getting a lot more than flowers from.





	1. Aneth Ara

**Author's Note:**

> This fic exists only because it was decided in group chat that Felassan needed some lovin'. So here we are (along with some character stuff I was sussing out for my Lavellan). XD If you just want to get to the smut, it's in the last half of chapter 2.
> 
> I realize that in the book Briala never mentioned much about Felassan's appearance, much less that he might be attractive, but Weekes says he looks very elfy, like Solas, Abelas and Ameridan, and his vallaslin is probably Mythal's, everything else is my headcanon.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -~*~-

A simple boring chore, she’d thought. There was usually so much of it, she could trip over one plant on the way to another. Not today. 

Absurd as it sounded, the embrium was missing.

Now, Ladarelan was on the hunt. 

She could picture the flowers in her mind—a circle of waxy green petals, swirling round a flare of red, remembered their intoxicating, sweet perfume. They could be found growing all over the hills and valleys of the Marches, distinct especially in the summer, when the deep groves became massive walls of leafy vines, unnavigable once off the path.

Already closing in on midday, though, she had not come across a single bobbing blossom of it.

Cut stems, yes, but the mature flower was the useful part. It was as if some odd beast had come and nibbled off all the tops. And none of the other flowers or herbs were touched; plenty of blood lotus and chamomile to be found, chicory and fireweed, even the elfroot was unplucked.

The more she thought and searched, the more annoyed she felt. 

There should have been hundreds! Enough to spare for an evening’s decorations, or even woven into crowns. 

Struck that her efforts were futile, Ladarelan grunted and dropped her gathering basket down at her tired feet. She had traveled much farther out from camp than intended, but there was still daylight. Perhaps she could track down the embrium bandit, and ask them to share. 

Forcefully, if need be.

She reached out with her magic and was surprised that she immediately found the residual sparks left by a mage passing through. They even left traces where the the mature embrium blossoms were gently pruned, leaving the buds to grow. Their magic felt strange. Old, and yet familiar—elven. A song that had been shaped by the ages, as Deshanna would say. Every clan had subtle differences in their magic, in their songs, and in their tales, but there was a thread that ran through them all that touched something ancient. 

Another clan had not crossed this part of the Marches in at least a year, though, if the trail markers had been set properly. And they would never take so much so quickly, even if they had. Not if their herbalist was maintaining their stores well. 

Embrium, despite other fantastical properties, by and large tended to be used in healing and fortifying draughts, for the weak, ill, or injured. Why would anyone need so much of such a thing?

This put her in the mind of there being a dangerous sickness; those who carried it might be close enough to camp to potentially harm her people. 

Ladarelan weighed her options. 

Returning without finding out more first, might be disastrous. Her uncle Des was itching to fight, like a rooster kept in his crate too long. To drag him out with a band of equally hotheaded warriors, over some missing flowers, might be cause for ridicule later, if she was wrong. Or pointless bloodshed if they got it into their heads that their people were at risk, if she was right.

Which decided things quite nicely for her.

With a spell, the trail left by the other mage’s magic spread out for her as clear as day. They weren’t even trying to hide their movements, as if they were either in a great hurry, or they didn't care at all if they were tracked by another mage—which spoke to her of arrogance, but also of power.

She crossed into the forest, and tracked them beneath heavy boughs, light filtering down in green and gold, guiding her way. Soon, the trail led her over a rushing, stony brook, up onto the other shore, which looked to have recently been washed out. On closer examination, she could still pick out traces of narrow elven footprints. 

From here, the ground rose sharply from an ancient grove of trees, just beyond the silvery stream.

Then she realized the rock face she’d been approaching, was in truth a wall of cut stone, run over with thick ivy and rashvine. She could see no one, hear no voices, no laughter. The birds still sang, and she could see the grey deer she’d managed not to frighten, at the water nearby. No sign of-

“I wouldn’t explore much further in that direction, if I were you,” said someone behind her. “The old temple defenses might pick you off at a distance. Not that I just narrowly escaped them or anything.”

Ladarelan turned around slowly, lowering her arm from instinctively reaching for the bladed staff on her back. If he'd meant to hurt her, he need not have said anything.

She expected a hunter with his bow drawn, or the mysterious mage she’d been tracking. It took the slightest brush of her mana against his, to identify him as the latter.

The mage, cloaked and hooded, was broader and taller than most of the men of her clan; beneath his cloak, she could see glints of armor so rich and woven through with elven magic, it had to have been won in unusual circumstances, or looted from a ruin. 

She couldn’t place his age—older to her twenty-three years by the lines on his face, certainly. Dalish, too; Mythal’s tree branched around his violet eyes and across his dark brow. 

He didn’t have a weapon drawn, in fact, he didn’t seem to have a staff, but carried a basket under his arm just as she did. However, his basket flowed almost overfull with her much sought after embrium blossoms. 

It had to be quite heavy.

She said nothing, frowning, looking from the flowers to him, uncertain how to broach her problem.

“And that would be a terrible shame, to see. A lovely woman such as yourself, succumbing to a mindless weapon over some common wildflowers,” he said, noticing the direction of her glances.

“Are they so common? I cannot seem to find a one, for some reason,” she said, smiling tightly at him in irritation. “I am Ladarelan of Clan Lavellan. What do you know of this place?” She nodded towards the wall. 

His expression wasn’t unfriendly, but she could not help her nervousness. That he was Dalish was no guarantee that he could be trusted; it seemed like he was alone, and itinerant and outcast Dalish mages were not exactly unheard of.

At this range, she might be able to get off a defensive spell before he lashed out with his own magic, but it would be close. He moved like an experienced warrior, fluid and practiced, with unconscious grace.

“Enough to understand it would serve little purpose for you to investigate. It’s a decrepit Tevinter ruin, as far as I can make out, with some old Elven weapons tacked on. If you go a few hundred paces in that direction, you’ll start to see the piles of poor fools who got too close. And, as thin as the Veil is around here, they could reanimate at any moment. I’d prefer to avoid unnecessary conflict, until I can hand these off,” he said, hefting his basket.

“That’s all well and good, but you've stripped every field and valley for what seems like miles. Embrium is vital for certain potions,” she said, gesturing at his fragrant hoard.

“Eh, they’ll grow back. Quickly, too. Worse than dandelions.” 

“Yes, but I had hoped to find some today. It seems you’ve been very thorough. What could your clan possibly need so much embrium for? Is there some sort of sickness?” she asked.

“No, not at all. I, for one, am surprisingly hale, all things considered,” he said, and gave her an unabashed grin. Which in another situation she might have mistaken as flirting... he must have been trying to distract her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and hoped that he didn’t notice her almost stammer.

“You’ve been following me wearing the most terrifying scowl, and I’ll assume that your surprisingly scary-looking staff there, isn’t for show, either. A little faster and you would have caught me, but—” he said, still grinning, and then glanced back towards the wall. “Would you like to see?”

“I would like more than just your word on it,” she said, grabbing her staff—which did have part of a shemlen skull bound to the top—holding it between them.

The mage sighed, and set down his basket. “Come.” 

He led her past a group of weathered grey pillars, until they were at what he seemed to think was a reasonable distance from the shattered front gate of the hunched old temple. Horrified, she could see hundreds of skeletons and dried out corpses, mostly those of animals, lying before it.

On the wall above, glowing faintly, was some sort of rounded structure which had a single shining gem embedded at it's core.

The mage picked up a battered old helmet, which had been carried by wind and weather to the edges of the temple’s grounds. Winding his arm back, he threw it right into the center of the path, where the corpses seemed to make the biggest pile. It bounced and clattered on the bones, kicking up a cloud of corpse dust. Moments later, a bolt of unnatural orange lightning shot out from the structure on the wall with a screech, splitting the metal, sending out sparks.

Ladarelan gasped, her mouth making an astonished ‘o’, until she looked back the to mage. He’d been genuine in his warning, and looked a bit smug.

“Ah. I do appreciate you taking the time to stop me from walking into… that, whatever it is. Strange, it’s not on any of the maps,” she said, backing into the trees to put more distance between herself and the weapon. The mage was right, the Veil was frightfully thin around the crumbling temple. It wouldn’t take much to get a demon’s attention.

“Strange indeed. Hmm, if you’re not in a great hurry, perhaps we could talk somewhere not quite so threatening? There’s a nice place to rest by that waterfall upstream.” 

Her face heated, as she mentally extracted a suggestion from his words, which was most likely not his intention. She reminded herself that just because she’d been fantasizing about what was under his armor from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, it didn’t mean he was doing the same.

He still might be trying to trick her, too. The old hahrens hadn’t shoved all of those stories about Fen’Harel making off with careless girls down her throat, for nothing.

Somehow, though, she doubted the Dread Wolf would be wearing Mythal’s vallaslin. 

Conflicted, she fumbled for what to say. Keeper Deshanna would beat her, if she found out what she was considering. She couldn’t just go off someplace secluded with a strange man! 

Well, she could, but...

“You’re out of your tree. How do I know you’re not just going to try to knock me out, then use me in some sort of weird blood ritual?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

She reminded herself though, that he could have easily attacked her from behind earlier, if that had been his intention. No need to speak to her, stop her from running into a trap, or pretend any interest in her at all.

“I don’t blame you for being wary, but you did say you needed some of these,” he said, and plucked a blossom of embrium from his basket, and tossed it into the empty one on her arm.

She bit her lower lip, trying to convince herself again why it would be a terrible idea to go with him. Her fingers flexed on the handles of her basket. 

“Won’t it be missed?”

He grinned and tossed another ruddy blossom in. “I’ll find more. I’m really just fishing for a reason to have you join me for an afternoon’s repast, to be honest.”

“Oh. Well I…” She felt her heart thud in her chest, and not out of fear. “Let me see your face, at least,” she said gesturing to his cowl, which had shadowed all of his expressions, thus far.

He pushed his hood back, revealing dark hair which was bound in a long, thick braid. His ears were sharp and elegant, his jaw strong, almost heavy, his complexion a little darker than hers in the sunlight.

Sweet Sylaise, she wanted to do more than share a meal with him. She wanted to bring him home with her.

“Better?” he asked, his eyebrow quirking up.

“Much,” she said, and smiled. “I caught a pair of rabbits, while I was tailing you. I suppose we could share.” 

“A fair trade, yes?”

“Fair enough,” she said. “Might I at least know your name?”

“Call me Felassan,” he said, and turned towards the stream.

His name meant “Slow Arrow”—an odd name to be sure. Particularly, if it was referencing the old tale about Fen’Harel sacrificing the elders of a clan, only to save the children from a beast. Ladarelan wasn’t sure what to make of it, if anything.

Felassan was alone as far as she could tell. Perhaps he really was just seeking companionship. Something she was glad enough to offer, provided, of course, he share a little more about his business in the area, along with his embrium.

She shook her head, and grinned, as she followed; why couldn’t she just admit to herself that she wanted to get to know him better?


	2. Dareth Shiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Theneras. Happy Valentines! ;D

Together, they made camp on the shore near the tufted grass, not far from the base of the steep, rushing falls he’d mentioned. Above where they stood, grey, lichen-encrusted rock overhung them; green willow branches draped down from the massive tree rooted in the stone, like a softly swaying curtain. 

A very pretty and private place to get more familiar with someone, to be sure. And, constantly watching him out of the corner of her eye, she wanted to. 

Eager to show off her magic to him, Ladarelan set about warding the camp’s perimeter against beasts and demons and other undesirables. It wasn’t a difficult task, but it did require a certain amount of concentration; she hopped in surprise, when he touched her shoulder from behind.

“Don’t forget to inscribe the ‘day’ sigil on the second quarter, lethallan, so it’ll repel insects, too.” He stepped away and dropped his armload of dry branches for firewood just outside the ward, and gestured to an empty spot in her diagram. Luckily, she hadn’t closed the circle of the ward yet to activate it. 

Her face flushed, but she quickly scratched it in as instructed; the sigil was not part of the spell that Deshanna had taught. Yet, she knew well enough that bits and pieces of magic were picked up and dropped over generations between clans, for many reasons. 

This addition worked quite well, thankfully. 

Watching beetles and ants trooping away from the ward’s boundary, and flies and mosquitoes avoiding them altogether, was most pleasing, as she began skinning her part of their meal. Despite her initial embarrassment, she was glad he had intervened; even better, she had learned a little something lost to her clan, far more valuable than a basket of embrium. 

Theirs was not a great feast, but satisfying enough for having been scrounged from the forest around them. This included some tender spindleweed shoots she’d picked, which were still sweet, a pair of slightly bruised apples, and the end of a loaf he provided, her rabbits, and a partridge he’d caught earlier.

Ladarelan suspected he had another camp, or his belongings hidden somewhere not terribly far from where they were; he looked to have been traveling, but didn’t have much with him but for his basket. No pack, no bedroll, not a cup or a bowl; no bow and arrows, or staff on his person. Felassan was not outfitted like he expected to be in the wilderness for long. 

He certainly didn’t seem to have intended to run into someone like her.

Enjoying the soft sunlight through the leaves, and lounging by the cookfire, they spoke of innocuous, light things, at first—the recent rain, a funny story she’d heard about a halla calf stuck in a badger hole. When she finished, he followed with a tale about a foolhardy human, who bought a veridium mine though a dragon had built a nest there. 

It ended poorly for the human.

While they ate, though, more serious matters seeped into the conversation. Ladarelan shared what little news she had of the nearby towns and villages, thinking the world had settled down since the Fifth Blight.

He barked a laugh, and told her of the recent news out of Kirkwall. 

“Only days ago, their chantry was destroyed, the Circle there annulled, and for all intents and purposes, its leadership dead. The city’s in utter chaos.” His grim expression told her he’d seen at least some of it firsthand.

“I don’t understand how so much could go so wrong, so quickly.” There were sure to be repercussions, even if they were leagues away from it.

“The world may take a breath now and then, but it’ll always be throwing itself headlong into the abyss, again, before you know it.” He threw a bone he’d been gnawing the last bits of meat off of into the fire, with a little more force than strictly necessary.

She frowned, disliking the dark shift in his mood. “I’m not saying I don’t agree, but for the sake of our people, I hope whatever comes next works more to bring us together—all of the People—in the woods, the cities, the plains. We can’t run in different directions for eternity. If the shemlen are distracted with a war, perhaps we should take advantage of that.” 

Felassan looked taken aback. 

Not surprising. Most Dalish were content to chase the past, rather than face the dangers of trying to coexist with the shemlen; nor was it common among them, to put forth the idea that they might unite with their brethren in the cities, and carve out their own space in the world again. 

“Does your Keeper know you’ve acquired such a unique perspective?” He sounded more curious than disturbed.

“Who do you think planted such thoughts in my head? Clan Lavellan has prospered under her leadership, and as First I see no reason to move backwards,” she said, proudly. 

His expression became thoughtful and somber in response. “To think I’d run into someone like you, at a time like this,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Not a thing. I’d like to meet your Keeper, though.” 

“I’d be glad to introduce you.” Ladarelan felt the color rise to her cheeks again, not meaning to sound so eager. 

Usually, when a member of another clan said something like that, it was with the intention to ask permission to court. Not that that was what it had to mean, but— 

“It is a shame my business takes me elsewhere.” He held her gaze—which, if she was not misreading him, had become a little heated. Felassan seemed perfectly aware of what he’d suggested. 

As they finished their meal and buried the remains, Ladarelan broke the odd tension that had crept up between them.

“So, what are you planning to do with all of that embrium? Did your clan lose all of theirs to insects, or a flood, or something?” she asked. 

“It’s not for my clan. Not exactly. I’m paying off a favor with another favor. Most of it is going to a healer friend of mine who lives in Ansburg.”

“Ah, I’ve been there. That’s only a about two day’s journey east.” Ansburg wasn’t a large city, but had enough river traffic to make it a prime trading hub. “My memories of the place are a bit colored by what happened on my last visit, unfortunately.”

“I can’t imagine what sort of trouble a... determined woman like you might attract.” Felassan gave her a wry grin, which brought a scowl to her face. 

“It wasn’t my fault.” Laderelan made a dismissive motion with her hand. “And you can stop looking so skeptical. My Keeper sent me there last summer, along with a small group of my clansmen. We were tasked very simply with trading a surplus of hides and handicrafts to the local merchants. But, well, there was also an unspoken suggestion, that I ought to consider choosing one of of my companions to court.”

“I see.” Chuckling, his smile at her beleaguered expression making his vallaslin curl around his eyes. 

Laderelan rolled her eyes at his tone. “I suppose if I didn’t know those idiots half so well. I spent most of my time breaking up fights between them—and then between them and the locals. Which cost us half of our earnings paying off officials, so we could leave peacefully. The experience did not endear any of us to each other, to say the least.”

Realizing that Felassan was biting his lip, trying not to laugh even harder, she found herself torn between two feelings—of being so embarrassed she wanted to sink into the ground, and alternately wanting to find out if his lips felt as soft as they looked.

“So, anyway, you said most of it was going to Ansburg. What will you do with the rest of the flowers?” Changing the subject seemed like the only way to keep from digging herself deeper.

“I did say I’d share some of it with you. Care to hand me your basket?” He leaned over to drag his own basket over to where they sat.

Pleased he’d kept his word, she got up to fetch it.

As she watched serenely, Felassan heaped a respectable amount of the red and green blossoms into it for her. 

“They always smell so wonderful,” she said, lifting one of the gently glimmering flowers to her nose, looking at him in appreciation. If she was going to court anyone, they would have to be at least as handsome, interesting, and generous as this man she barely knew. 

A man whom she would probably never see again, after she left this camp.

Looking at him from under hooded eyes, a terrible, terrible idea, blossomed within her, like some twisted, wanton rose.

She had to at least ask.

“Don’t breathe in too much,” he said. “At this concentration they’ll have a minor healing effect, but also make you lightheaded. I suppose it’s not the worst way to spend the afternoon, but… Well, you do need to be able to get home.” 

Ladarelan smiled at him, certain she was already a bit high, though not on embrium. Felassan’s eyes followed the flower in her hand as she twirled it by the stem between them; they flicked back up to her face, widening, when she threw the bloom very deliberately onto the fire at their side. 

A very unsubtle message, if one kept to the old ways. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure I can get back to camp before dark. Perhaps I should stay.” She leaned in, making her intent clearer. 

“A fascinating suggestion. But won’t your clan be looking for you?” Holding her gaze, he raised a concerned eyebrow; he didn’t move away, though. 

“Not until morning, I imagine. It won’t be the first time I’ve gone off on my own. I usually don’t proposition strangers like this, I must admit.”

“Usually?” Felassan gave a choked laugh. 

“I had a good time at the last Arlathvhen, let’s leave it at that. Sweet Sylaise, this is getting awkward.” He could just say no, and she’d be on her way. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he said, teasing. His smile was soft and inviting, and their knees were just brushing each other. “I suppose it’s been a long time since I’ve accepted this sort of invitation.”

“I’d love to show you my gratitude,” she ventured, leaning in again, smiling playfully.

At that, his expression took a more serious cast. “I hope you don’t think I expect... For the flowers, I mean.”

“No. Not at all. I’ve been contemplating upon what’s under your armor, from the moment I first laid eyes on you.” She’d let her voice go sultry, and reached out to brush her fingers against his chestplate. 

“Ah, just so we’re clear on that.” His shoulders seemed to relax. “Perhaps we could visit the water? I’d planned on having a soak after you left.”

“I’d like that very much. It’s a good day for it.” 

“Though, taking this off might take me some time.” He yanked his gauntlets from his hands and set them aside. Before they could engage in any amorous activities, there was the more practical matter of peeling him out of his beautiful carapace. 

“Do you need any help?” 

Felassan licked his lips. “I do now.” He leaned forward, bumping his forehead against hers lightly. 

She laughed, and moved to unpin the clasp that held his cloak and cowl. The thick grey fabric slipped off his shoulders and she gathered it over next to them. Exposed, the armor shone even brighter. 

“The rest of it looks complicated.” 

“Not really.” With his arm outstretched, he demonstrated how the fastenings to the polished bracer covering his forearm worked. Freed of the first of many, he dropped the coppery plates to the side, and started with the next. 

Once she knew how it was done, she aided him in quickly removing the rest. He lifted the upper half of his lightweight, silverite chainmail hauberk off, himself, revealing a black, form-fitting, quilted silk gambeson underneath. 

The cloth had to have had some sort of cooling charm worked into it, or had been cleaned recently; he didn’t smell strongly of old sweat, or of the grime traveling clothes tended to acquire, when worn on the road for weeks at a time. Though the scent of embrium still hung strongly in her nose, and could be interfering. 

“Where did you even get fancy armor like this?” Her own was made of worked leather, and functioned rather more like a regular garment, easily unbuckled and hung at the end of the day. 

“A friend lent it to me, despite my protestations.”

“Ah. You seem to have a lot of interesting friends.” Ladarelan couldn’t help being curious again at why he was so secretive. He didn’t say if he protested wearing it because it was conspicuous, or to avoid being further in someone’s debt. The hungry, desirous way he was looking at her, she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

“And I enjoy making new ones.”

Touching her face, tipping her chin up, Felassan closed the distance between them.

It was—like many of her first kisses—a bit of a test; a gauge of interest and of passion, and of skill. She learned quickly, that he was very interested indeed, equally as passionate as she, and if unpracticed, definitely skilled. He trailed his hands down her arms, until Ladarelan embraced him, her arms around his neck as he pulled her in close straddling his lap. 

They could not seem to get the rest of their clothes off fast enough after that, their mouths meeting in a frenzy of deep, reckless kisses. 

She couldn’t seem to touch enough of him. Even wound together as they were, warm hands sliding over smooth skin, the hard shaft of his arousal pressed between them, she wanted more contact. 

Desperate to relieve her almost painful need, she guided one of his roaming hands between her thighs. Felassan followed her lead. He leaned his head into the crook of her shoulder as he teased her wet folds with his long fingers. 

She did not ignore his desire, though, and he shuddered at her touch, gasping with pleasure when Ladarelan slid her hand down opposite his.  
Gently, she caressed his straining cock, up and down, her fingers wrapped around; he almost immediately hissed in her ear for her to go harder, faster. 

Panting and lost in sensation, they took care of the aching demands of each other’s flesh—she rutting against his steady hand, while he sucked and nipped at her neck as she eagerly stroked him off.

He finished unceremoniously with a gasp and a grunt, spilling into her hand; seconds later, the scream that broke from her throat when she came, echoed off the wall of the overhang, and shook the earth. For a moment, she’d lost control of her magic. 

Felassan snickered at her astonished, overwhelmed expression, and, before she could look offended or embarrassed, kissed her long and deep.

Soon after, they took to the water.

Ladarelan had enough of her senses available to her, to remember to bring her staff over to the shore; she propped it up where she could easily grab it if some unseen danger were to appear. But Felassan did not seem overly concerned; as he waded in, he cast a large glyph she didn’t recognize. It felt like nature magic, meant either to purify, or to chase off predators. 

The water, blue-grey from the rounded stones on the streambed, felt refreshing against her heated, sensitive skin. Spray from the falls made rainbows waver up around them, shining prettily. It wasn’t terribly deep, barely coming up to Felassan’s slender hips, and just above her middle. 

She watched him, wiry and tall, squat down enough to duck his head under, then shake the water off and gasp, as he stood again. 

The sight of water droplets shimmering off his skin and hair did little to persuade her that she might have made the wrong choice in pursuing him—but she didn’t want to do all the pursuing. 

Time to play a little game, then. Before he blinked the water from his lashes, she slipped under the water like an otter. Swimming a swiftly away from him, Ladarelan looked back to see if he’d given chase. 

He had; the length of his legs gave him an unfair advantage, too. For when she emerged to search for him, he’d already swum in front of her. 

Triumphant, Felassan caught her up, his hands clamped at her waist. 

He turned her to face him. “Mythal bless, you’ve got a nice rack, woman.” 

Smiling, he leaned to kiss her again, lifted her into the air, then pressed his face between her breasts. He nuzzled her sternum appreciatively. 

She giggled and squealed; ticklish and unable to escape, she flailed in his strong arms.

Frustrated at how easily he found such a weakness, Ladarelan retaliated. She wrapped her legs around him as he let her down, which quickly threw him off balance. This tactic backfired, though, as he held onto her hips. 

Laughing, they tumbled sideways into the water with a great splash.

They each spit stream water out—she coughing, while he coughed and snorted and laughed some more. Once they had their bearings, they took to drifting with the mild current. She wrapped her limbs around him loosely, until he pulled her to him. 

“You want in?” She ground her hips against his, more than suggestively. 

His breath hissing, Felassan dug his heels into the streambed, biting his lip at the sensation. 

“Out of the water, if you don’t mind.” Under his breath, he muttered at his lack of leverage. 

So they waded back to shore, onto the flattish boulder which held both his bundled cloak and her staff and returned to the fireside. Felassan spread out the thick cloak, and they sat atop it, soaking portions of the dark fabric with the water running off their skin, but it was far softer than the bare stone. 

Ladarelan expected him to embrace her tightly the moment they were on solid ground. He simply watched her, though, as she twisted her waterlogged, straw-colored hair over her shoulder. Admiring her, as far as she could tell; if there was something heavier behind his eyes she couldn’t parse it.

“How do you want me?” he asked, before she could think about it too much.

She smiled wide. “I want to ride you like a halla—but, if you want to take me from behind like Fen’Harel, I’d like that, too. We have all night.” Ladarelan moved so that she was on her hands and knees next to him, and wiggled her ass in the air.

At that, Felassan made a choked noise. “Ah, let’s leave him out of this.”

“True. Wouldn’t want to make him jealous.”

“Or even mildly aware. Kiss me, beautiful one.” He said it in elven, which she understood, but hadn’t expected. 

“As you like,” she said, replying in kind. Angling for his lips, she climbed on top of him, leaning into what became a particularly nice open-mouthed kiss.

Without breaking them apart, he eased them back and folded his arm behind his head, his other hand fixed firm on her bare rear, which he squeezed periodically. 

Ladarelan released him from the kiss slowly, dragging his plump lower lip between her teeth. She’d be back, but there was the pressing matter of the head of his cock teasing against the insides of her thighs. 

Already slick and sensitive from their earlier fun, she rocked over him, taking him in, soon rewarded with appreciative noises from his throat; she echoed his sentiment, reveling in how good he felt inside of her. 

Moving slow, taking her time, she took his full length into her welcoming core; his fingers dug into her skin, and he held her hips fast, once they were flush against each other.

“Let me just feel you like this for a moment.” Felassan stared up at her like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.

Ladarelan grinned down at him, tracing her fingers lightly over his firm abdomen. “I’ll allow it, shiralas.” Though not for long, for as much as she enjoyed the feeling of him inside her, moving against him felt so much better. 

“Do you plan to take part of me with you?” he asked, then—a bit late to demonstrate concern about such things, in her opinion. 

“If it happens, it happens. I am willing, and my clan needs new blood.” True enough, though Deshanna would likely have stern words for her choosing someone unfamiliar. 

“It doesn’t have to happen,” he said. She could feel magic pooling in his fingertips, where he stroked her skin, tingling, raising gooseflesh.

Ladarelan shook her head. “I’m not worried. Meet me here again in a year, if you wish to know one way or the other.” She smiled, wiggling against him impatiently.

“So be it.” Felassan chuckled, and thrust his hips up, which made her yelp in surprise, forced to lean forward to keep her balance. She didn’t mind, as it gave her an excuse to kiss him again.

They kissed many times more, that night, even after they were both spent and sleepy.

Laying with him, wrapped in his cloak, her dreams were peaceful; he followed her into the Fade, and it occurred to her then she’d never had a lover who was also a mage, before. 

Ladarelan liked it. She liked the feel of his arms around her in both worlds. 

He didn’t wake when she slipped away. Perhaps he heard her whispered goodbye to him, in dreams.


End file.
